Fraternizing With the Enemy
by The Talentless Hack
Summary: AU, SaitouTokio, WIP. Shakespeare once wrote that the course of true love never did run smooth. The Bard may have been on to something...
1. Scary Is In the Eye of the Beholder

**A/N:** I have no business posting a new story when I'm still working on _Captain Miserable_ and _Ugetsu Monogatari_, among others.

…oh well.

I've been sitting on this one for a while; those of you who frequent my LJ may remember seeing the second half of Chapter One some time ago. This one is largely episodic, sort of in the same vein as _All the Small Things_.

One way in which it will differ from my other pursuits is that I will be posting _**chapters**_ every time I update; this post is a "monster" post of three at once. Enjoy.

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Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever. Boo.

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_Fraternizing With the Enemy_

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_**Chapter One: Scary Is In the Eye of the Beholder**_

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_No one will ever win the Battle of the Sexes._

_There's too much fraternizing with the enemy._

—_Henry Kissinger_

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He was a man of simple tastes and needs.

The only time he cared about brand names was when it came to his liquor and smokes—if you were going to poison yourself, you ought to at least do it right, he'd always thought. His car was fifteen years too old, but as long as it got him from point A to point B he didn't care. As long as he could immediately identify what he was eating, he happily gorged himself on it. His apartment had one bedroom, a cramped, ugly kitchen and he never had enough hot water, but it was cheap and fairly close to the high school he worked at, so he supposed he couldn't complain (…overly).

Yes, Hajime Saitou was as uncomplicated as they came…in his own mind, anyway.

Currently, the self-proclaimed simple man was irritably chewing on a cigarette. He'd much rather have been smoking the thing, but smoking was prohibited on school grounds, and he had to get his nicotine fix somehow (preferably in a manner which avoided his getting chewed out by the administration…again).

"Discrimination," he muttered sourly.

It seemed like every year, he and his brethren lost more ground to those whiny, selfish, asshole non-smokers. He had no doubt that his habit would one day become too much trouble to indulge in, and he knew that the day he had to quit would be a very dark day indeed.

At least he'd still have booze, anyway.

A polite knock on the door of what was known as "The Cave" (and not always affectionately, especially when his students were the ones talking about it) interrupted his little pity party.

"Yeah," he called, already knowing who it was.

The door opened and a pretty woman with twinkling dark eyes poked her head in, short black hair swinging slightly.

"Hey," she said cheerfully.

"Hey," he replied.

"May I?"

"If you dare."

She smiled and slipped into the room, a brown paper bag in one hand, water bottle in the other.

"So scary," she teased, expression mischievous but tone solemn.

"I have a reputation to protect," he said with a shrug.

"You're a cute, cuddly teddy bear," she said, pulling a chair up to his desk.

"Only for you," he dryly assured, and she chuckled, shaking her head.

Tokio Takagi hadn't been here as long as he had. She was young and new, and he'd taken an immediate liking to her. His coworkers had been honestly surprised by that; he was polite (sort of—"polite" was a relative term, as far as Saitou was concerned), but he preferred to keep his distance from people in general. If included in the odd little event, he made an effort (again, sort of) to be sociable, but he liked his solitude and his coworkers gave him wide berth. So his sudden friendship with the school's newest addition to the English department had stunned more than one person; the principal, a difficult-to-catch-off-guard man named Seijuurou Hiko, had reportedly choked on and then spat out the vodka he was always drinking from his flask when he'd heard about the "odd couple," as they'd been nicknamed by the staff.

The truth was that Tokio wasn't as harmless as she looked. She had a mean streak that rivaled his, and Saitou delighted in the woman's company. She could definitely hold her own against him.

That she was easy on the eyes didn't hurt either.

"How's it been?" she asked, opening her bag and beginning to neatly lay out the contents of her lunch.

"Same old," he said, bored, as he watched her. "You?"

"Dull," she said with a sigh. "They aren't up on their reading."

"You should give 'em a pop quiz," he said idly, as a little container of strawberry yogurt and a plastic spoon joined her sandwich.

"You're just mean," she chided, amused.

"Keeps 'em on their toes," he pointed out.

"No wonder they call you the Wolf—you go for the throat."

He smirked.

"Not always—sometimes I just mess with 'em."

"Mm, I heard about that," she said, a vague note of disapproval in her voice. "Honestly, Hajime. Making all the answers on your last test "B"? That's cruel and unusual."

"There was absolutely nothing wrong with that test," he said mildly.

"They thought it was a mean joke."

His smirk reappeared, more malicious than before.

"It was."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"That sort of thing is against the Constitution, you know."

"You had your chance in college to be a government teacher, little miss English nut," he replied.

"At least _I_ don't put my students to sleep," she taunted.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Wanna bet?"

"Government is _way_ more boring than Chaucer."

"Chaucer can blow me."

"Hajime!"

"I'm not taking it back," he informed her loftily.

"Every other story in _The Canterbury Tales_ is about or includes sex in some form," she retorted. "Now how is that boring?"

He raised an eyebrow and considered her.

"Really?" he asked after a moment.

"Well, just about."

"I don't remember that."

"Oh you poor deprived thing," she deadpanned, and he grinned.

"So Chaucer's dirty, huh?"

"Shakespeare too," she said with a grin.

"Shame on you, corrupting the future of tomorrow," he teased, amused.

"It's a long and storied tradition," she replied, still grinning, as she unwrapped her sandwich.

"I had no idea the world of English was so sordid," he said, slumping down in his chair.

"Much more interesting than discussing the legislative branch of government," she smugly replied.

"Sex scandals," he reminded her mildly.

"You don't talk about that," she accused.

He shrugged.

"Not my fault that the current "legislative branch of government" is so boring."

"Or so good at hiding dirty laundry."

"All comes out in the wash eventually," he returned, and she groaned.

"You're _so_ corny," she said with a sigh.

"Are not."

"Are so."

"Oh nice comeback."

"Just keeping things at a manageable level for you."

"Ow—and you talk about me," he said with an amused chuckle, hands clasped over his stomach.

"Is that gross cigarette hanging out of your mouth your lunch?" she asked before taking a little bite of her sandwich and chewing.

"Yep."

She frowned at him and swallowed.

"Hajime," she said, the disapproval clear in her voice this time.

"I don't need to eat a lot," he said dismissively.

"You're supposed to be eating three meals a day," she began.

"I had breakfast," he protested.

"A cup of black coffee and a cigarette does not constitute breakfast, Hajime," she said flatly.

"How do you know what I had?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't…until a second ago."

_…damn._

"…Damn."

She sent him a triumphant, smug smirk.

"That was entrapment," he complained.

She stuck her tongue out at him, then slid the other half of her sandwich over to him.

"This is very _Lady and the Tramp_," he remarked, nevertheless tossing his soggy cigarette away and accepting the offering.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Should a thirty-six year old man be making that kind of comparison?"

"Hey, I have nieces."

"Uh-huh."

"Feh—no respect."

"Eat," she ordered.

"Yeah yeah yeah."

The truth was that he didn't really mind her forcing her food on him—what sane man would, honestly?—but he didn't purposely not eat so that she'd share her food with him (although he'd have been lying if he'd said the thought hadn't crossed his mind more than once). Most days, he brought something and they ate together, occasionally trading sides.

But Saitou had a tendency towards overkill. He smoked too much and drank too much, didn't eat enough or sleep enough. He'd always been a bit of an extremist in what he did, good or bad, and right now he was leaning heavily in the territory of the latter.

He was stuck in one of his more destructive cycles at present. He spent more time sucking on cigarettes than sucking down food, and he was currently at the mercy of one of those bouts of insomnia that came and went. None of this was really showing up on him just yet. He looked a little gaunter than usual, but only a little; he could see the small changes and differences because he knew what to look for and where.

On the upside, though, he hadn't been behind on his grading in a month and a half.

"So what else is new?" he asked.

She thoughtfully cocked her head and considered the question.

"My sister's getting married," she said finally.

"Oh she tricked that poor slob into agreeing?" he asked with a smirk.

"Ha ha ha," she said dryly. "I bet you'd have more trouble than Tami did."

"_Damn_—just one after another today, huh?"

"You're asking for it."

"You usually hold back a little." He grinned. "Feeling feisty?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Cornball." she accused.

"What was corny about that?"

"Who says "feisty" anymore?"

"Oh now you're going to analyze my word choice?"

"Maybe," she lazily replied.

"Grammar Nazi."

"_Oh_—them's fightin' words, Mr. Politick."

He grinned widely.

"Bring it," he taunted, and she smiled evilly at him.

"Just remember," she sing songed, eyes twinkling, "you asked for it…"

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Lunch and his time with Tokio passed far too quickly for Saitou's liking—not that that was unusual—and all too soon, it was back to the daily grind and his persona as the most terrifying human being to ever walk the earth.

His students lived in mortal fear of him, and Saitou wouldn't have had it any other way; he thought Machiavelli had been onto something big—feh, _huge_—when he'd advocated fear over love for those in power. His tactics were simple and effective: a well-placed glare here, a quietly delivered ultimatum there, and controlling the little hooligans was ridiculously easy. His classroom was every bit a dictatorship, and he was fond of telling his students that the closest to democracy they'd experience in his classroom was when they got to choose whether to write lines, no stopping or pausing allowed, or hold two dictionaries, arms outstretched, for an hour if and when they served their first detention with him—what they did during any other detentions served with him after that was entirely at his discretion (he didn't get too many repeat offenders, incidentally).

Consequently, Saitou had established quite a mythos for himself within the AP classes at the school.

His first class after lunch filtered in, loud but not rowdy. He was inclined to overlook his students' behavior (to a certain point, mind) directly after lunch; they'd just eaten and been obnoxious with their friends, and it always took them some extra time to stop being little retards. Once the bell rang, however, they were on his time, and he started promptly—if you missed anything, well, that was just too damn bad.

He was standing at the door today, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the door with a bored expression on his face. He didn't usually do that unless he was in the mood to actively hunt for uniform violations rather than just waiting to see if any of his students were dumb enough to test their luck.

A surprisingly large number were under the mistaken notion that he was blind as a bat, apparently.

There was a second, less well-known reason for his occasional station at the door: he had students in common with Tokio, and they sometimes talked about her and her class. Most of it was the usual complaint about too much work that all students voiced. But every now and again, one of them would start talking shit about her. And when he heard the less than complimentary remarks, he dealt swift, brutal punishment to the idiot who'd made them, quickly finding something to use against the unlucky soul. To his delight, it required very little effort on his part most of the time, as they usually handed him the tools to their own destruction.

None of them had made the connection yet, and he had no plans to enlighten them, curious about how long it would take them to figure it out.

He'd made note of eight uniform violations when he heard a familiar voice raised in complaint:

"…so fuckin' unfair, man!"

"I know, I can't believe we got reamed like that."

"Che, for real. What a bitch."

Saitou's eyes narrowed. Chou Sawagejou was the bane of his existence. The senior was lazy, loud and irritating, but the kid didn't set his teeth on edge like Sanosuke Sagara, another indolent senior whose most solemn duty in life was also, apparently, attempting to make Saitou's life as difficult as possible. Mostly, Saitou thought the loud-mouthed blonde he called Broomhead was a generally harmless if exasperating moron.

Broomhead was also one of the students he and Tokio had in common, and the most consistent offender.

Saitou was convinced the moron would never make the connection between his extremely improper bitching about Tokio, and Saitou's making his life miserable.

He waited patiently for Broomhead to sign his death warrant. Happily, he didn't have long to wait:

"Man. Miss T needs a man," Chou said bitterly. "If she got some, maybe she wouldn't be such an uptight bitch—who fuckin' cares about dumbfuck Chaucer?"

_Like shooting fish in a barrel_, Saitou thought with a faint smirk. _Honestly, it's almost not fun—__**almost**__._

Chou bid his fellow discontented classmate goodbye (Saitou made note of who it was, and was disappointed upon discovering the kid wasn't one of his—damn), then began for the door. He was nearly there when the bell rang, and the blonde sent Saitou a horrified look. Saitou, in turn, sent Chou a slow, evil grin.

"I'll see you after school for the next two days, Broomhead," he said, positively gleeful inside.

"But the bell just rang!" Chou protested loudly.

"And you're nowhere near your seat," Saitou replied. "Sucks to be you."

"Well why two days?!"

"You're two minutes late."

"What? But the bell just—" Chou broke off as he apparently concluded that Saitou was planning to make his statement a reality. "Oh sh—"

Saitou managed to slam the door shut, and got the added satisfaction of Chou crashing into it. He looked over his shoulder at the clock, then looked out over his giggling class, looking for a trustworthy student.

"Honjou," he said. "Time it—two minutes from the bell. And take roll, we've got a schedule to keep."

"Yes sir," Kamatari Honjou chirped.

Saitou nodded, then looked back at the door. Chou sent him a pitiful look through the window.

"Come on Saitou!" he wailed, knocking on the door.

Saitou only smiled in return.

"No," he said with relish.

Chou groaned and slammed his forehead against the door, and Saitou's smirk widened.

God he loved this job.


	2. Supporting the Team

Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever. Boo.

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_Fraternizing With the Enemy_

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_**Chapter Two: Supporting the Team**_

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"If I ever get my hands on the asshat that invented Homecoming," Saitou growled.

Over at her mailbox, Tokio laughed softly.

"I'm pretty sure the gentleman is long dead, Hajime," she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You say that like it should mean something."

Her laugh was louder this time.

"Branching out into grave desecration? Very nice."

"Ha ha ha."

"It's not _so_ bad," she said, tucking her mail into her bag.

"Uh, they act more retarded than usual—so yes, it is _so_ bad," he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"They've been all right this week," she said.

"Feh—says _you_." he muttered as they left the mailroom together.

They were currently in the middle of the hell known as Spirit Week. Saitou detested Spirit Week. The theme days, with their "tacky tourists" and their "heroes and villains," encouraged the students to be more obnoxious than usual. They were louder and more unruly and much more of a trial on his nerves, as a result. Plus, students participating in the Spirit Week activities were given amnesty for not wearing their uniforms; all of his students were taking advantage of that, and it wasn't making Saitou like Spirit Week any better.

Hey, a guy needed his amusements. His just happened to have a meaner streak running through them than most.

"Feel like going to a game at my alma mater?" he asked as they climbed the stairs.

She sent him an odd look.

"I thought you took your nephew to those," she said.

"I do, but he's got the chicken pox."

She made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat.

"Poor thing," she said.

"So you wanna go?"

She sent him a disapproving look.

"And you dare to call yourself a doting uncle."

"Thinkin' about it isn't going to help him," he replied. "Getting back to you, though—do you?"

Tokio stopped on the second floor—his floor—and pondered, then shrugged.

"Sure, why not," she said. Then she sent him an amused look. "Boy, you really wanna get your money's worth, huh?"

Actually, as a member of the alumni association, he got tickets to all games in the season at no additional cost once he paid his dues, whether he wanted them or not.

"Well, seems like a shame to waste them," he said mildly.

"Oh you charmer, you," she deadpanned, and he laughed.

"I do try," he replied.

"Clearly."

"This Saturday, tailgate starts at 4."

She looked surprised.

"We're doing the tailgate too?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," he said, as if that should have been obvious (…'cause it should have been). "You can't _not_ tailgate at a game, woman."

She shrugged.

"Sorry, didn't know there was a system."

"So deprived," he said in feigned despair.

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to my room," she said.

"We're discussing it at lunch," he warned.

"Sure Coach."

"Oh funny."

"I do try."

"Ey, that's my line."

"Not anymore," she said, sticking her tongue out at him as she headed for the stairs leading to the third floor.

"I'll let you win this time," he said.

"Oooo, thank you," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"See, I can be benevolent," he taunted.

"Oh absolutely—_Stalin_."

"Hey hey hey—calm down with those," he shot back. "You'll use up all your pot shots otherwise, and it's no fun taunting you when you can't fire back."

Tokio threw back her head and laughed.

"You're so not well," she said, still laughing.

He only shrugged, and made her laugh harder.

"Later Joe," she teased.

"See you Grammar Nazi."

"Keep that up and our little pact is null and void," she warned.

He only sent her a devious grin in reply that had her laughing the rest of the way up the stairs.

Saitou tilted his head to one side and listened to her laughter fade as she moved farther away from him, a faint smile on his face, then ambled on towards his classroom, hands in his pockets, bag looped over his shoulder. He passed a few early birds in the hall, and sighed when he saw their attire: they were decked out in their pep rally gear, armed with pompoms and little plushies of the mascot—a fierce little man in Shinsengumi battle regalia, affectionately called "Shin-kun"—and beaded necklaces in the school's colors (light blue and white). Many of the students he saw were wearing homemade shirts, most of them black T-shirts, with light blue and white felt letters spelling out idiotic nicknames or phrases in support of the team. And while all of that was vaguely exasperating, it wasn't what had him sighing wearily.

That was the glitter and face paint.

Saitou rolled his eyes and shook his head as he pulled his room key out of his pocket.

High school brats.

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"How surprised would you be if I told you I've never been tailgating in my life?" Tokio asked him Saturday when he arrived at her apartment complex to pick her up.

"Not very surprised," he replied with a grin. "Got a cap?"

She wrinkled her nose.

"I don't look good in caps," she informed him.

"That's nice," he said nonchalantly. "Got a cap?"

She frowned at him, then moved out of the way so he could come in, and shut the door behind him.

"I have to look," she said.

"All right—whaddaya have to eat?"

"Bottomless pit," she accused.

"I should get some compensation," he said mildly.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," she muttered. "Don't eat us out of house and home," she added, gesturing toward the kitchen.

"Uh-huh," he said, sauntering off in the direction she'd gestured, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

He found Tokio's sister, Tami, perched on the counter in a robe, legs crossed (_And what lovely legs they were_, he thought appreciatively), drinking coffee.

"Good morning sunshine," Tami immediately said, sending him a feral grin.

"Good morning cupcake," Saitou replied, returning her smile with one of his own.

"Takin' my big sister to a game, huh?" she asked. "Aren't you romantic?"

"You should see my encore."

"Oh? Does it involve bashing her over the head and dragging her back to your cave?"

"Sex on my desk, huh? Your sister's kinky."

Tami burst out laughing and Saitou grinned, victorious.

It was a weird ritual that had begun between them not long after Tokio had introduced them to each other. Saitou enjoyed Tami because the woman was twisted. She was much meaner than Tokio, too, which was the only reason he preferred Tokio's company for longer periods of time than Tami's—Tokio wasn't nearly as terrifying.

Tami nimbly leapt down off the counter and got him a cup of coffee, which he accepted with an overly sweet, "Thank you cupcake."

"You guys are so warped," Tokio said, coming into the kitchen.

"Yup," Tami cheerfully agreed, grabbing her cup of coffee and lifting it.

"Here here," Saitou said, also lifting his cup.

Tokio rolled her eyes.

"Where's your cap?" he asked her.

"Haven't got one," she replied, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

He sighed.

"Hopeless," he said in mock despair. "Lucky for you I've got a spare in the car."

"It's your nephew's, isn't it?" Tokio asked dryly, bumping the fridge door shut with her fanny (_Oh lucky door_, he thought with a sigh of regret).

She was right about the cap. Not that she needed to know that…

"_Maybe_," he said.

"Uh-huh."

So much for her not knowing.

"What are you going to do all day?" Tokio asked her sister, unscrewing the cap on her water.

"Be lazy," Tami replied with a feline grin.

"When he comes over, keep it to your room," Tokio said flatly, referring to Tami's fiancé.

"What you don't know can't hurt you," Tami sing songed.

"Oh gross Tami!" Tokio immediately replied, and her sister threw back her head and laughed.

"You should see your face!" she said, still laughing.

"Oh God," Tokio said, disgusted. "I'm cleaning when I get back."

"Get her roaring drunk, Hajime," Tami demanded.

"Of course," he agreed. "You enjoy the game more," he said mildly when Tokio glared at him.

"Uh-huh," she said flatly.

"Besides, I wanna see you drunk," he added.

"No you don't."

"Do too."

"Trust me, you don't."

"You sing and dance, don't you?"

"You're ridiculous," she said with an exasperated sigh.

"Doesn't she?" he asked, looking at Tami, who grinned mischievously back at him.

"Naked," she said with a nod of agreement.

"A woman after my own heart," he said, putting a hand over his chest.

"Why do you two always gang up on me?" Tokio grumbled, pouting.

"It's fun," Saitou said.

"It's easy," Tami said at the same time.

Tokio sent them both black looks, and Saitou grinned.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get going. We've got places to be and people to see."

"It's one," Tokio pointed out.

"We gotta pick up some things," he said evasively.

Tokio sighed, then looked at her sister, who held up both hands in the international "Don't shoot!" signal.

"We'll be good," she promised.

"I can't wait for you two to get married," Tokio muttered, eyeing her sister with slow-fading annoyance.

"You want to get rid of me already?" Tami asked, whining.

"Yes, you're annoying," Tokio replied.

"First round's over," Saitou said lightly, shoving Tokio out of the kitchen. "Later cupcake."

"'Bye-'bye sunshine."

Saitou didn't give Tokio time to continue her quarrel with Tami; he allowed her only enough time to grab her keys before ushering (read: manhandling) her out of her apartment.

"What about my license?" she protested.

"Don't need it, I'm driving." he replied.

"But my wallet, my money—"

"Today's on me," he said, holding up a hand. "If you wanna get square with me later, that's fine, but you're not gonna need your wallet today, trust me."

She pouted mutinously.

"What about my cell phone?" she asked after a moment.

"Don't need that either."

"But what if something happens and people need to get a hold of me?!"

"Then Tami will use your cell to get a hold of me," he patiently returned.

"Well how come you get to have yours?" she grumbled.

"Because I'm in charge of booze," he said.

Tokio blinked.

"What?" she asked, baffled.

"Souji can't pick out good liquor to save his life," he explained. "So he's in charge of food, and I'm in charge of booze."

"How much liquor are you planning on buying?" she asked.

"Enough for eight people."

"Three of whom are alcoholics," she muttered in obvious disapproval while eyeing him pointedly, and he put a hand over his heart and affected a stricken expression.

"Those are totally unfounded rumors and vicious lies perpetrated to sully my good name," he said loftily.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm hurt by your skepticism, Tokio."

"Oh I'm _sure_," she drawled, finally giving in and locking her door.

"Alcoholics drink alone, you know," he pointed out.

"And you're such a social guy."

"Cheap shot."

"I'm warming up."

"I bet." He threw a companionable arm around her. "Come on. We got booze to buy."

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but didn't resist when he began walking.

"You're fair game if you get plastered," she warned.

"I would never," he said snootily. "And I'm not the one getting plastered—you are."

"I most certainly am not," she said immediately.

"But I promised Tami," he protested.

"No."

"Aw come on!"

"Absolutely not."

"You'd make a liar out of me, Tokio? You'd have me impugn my honor?"

"Yes."

"That's cold."

"Well, there's a reason I'm known as the Ice Queen."

He raised an eyebrow.

"'Ice Queen'?" he repeated.

"It's a new nickname making the rounds," she explained.

"Huh," he said. "Who started that?"

She shrugged lightly, careful not to jar his arm overly.

"Not sure," she said.

"Huh," was all he had to say.

His mind, however, was already going through the list of kids to pump for information come Monday.

His kids didn't love him enough to freely gossip with him, but they feared him more than enough to answer any questions he posed them in a quick, concise manner.

Machiavelli was right—fear totally pwned love.


	3. The Nutcracker Mafia

**A/N:** First chapter requiring a "Words To Watch Out For/More Of A Note Than Anything" section.

Yay?

Also, sorry for the delay in posting this last bit. I was posting this story during my Instructional Strategies class, since it seemed like a more productive use of my time. Actually, allow me to go on record as saying it was definitely a more productive use of my time. Anyway, a fire alarm (false alarm, and the second one in less than 24 hours), interrupted my efforts, and then since we didn't have much time left, I decided to hold off on posting until I got home. So there you have it.

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Words To Watch Out For:

DBQ: stands for "Document Based Question." This is one of three sections on many AP (Advanced Placement) exams. What it is, is a prompt asking the student to write an essay using most (by which it is meant you may use all but one) of the provided "documents" to support your point of view. The documents may be pictures, photographs, excerpts from articles, journals or other writings, graphs—pretty much anything. These things are beasts. Older tests (DBQs are released by the College Board, the company that produces the tests for high schools to use) have a truly frightening amount of documents to use, although they tend to be very short to offset the amount of them. Newer DBQs tend to have less documents, but they're on the lengthy side, I suppose to make up for the fact you aren't getting eleven (I'm not kidding, by the way, and actually, that number may be a ridiculously conservative estimate; I've been out of high school for some time now, and I can't remember details like that anymore). The DBQ was the bane of my AP existence, and the bane of most of my fellow classmates.

MCQ: stands for "Multiple Choice Question." That's pretty self-explanatory, so I'll move on to the next one.

free-response essay: One of three sections on many AP exams, this one is where you're given a topic and then expected to write a knowledgeable essay on it, based on what you learned during the year. These essays were tricky little buggers, because they sound a lot easier than they generally turned out to be.

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Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever. Boo.

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_Fraternizing With the Enemy_

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_**Chapter Three: The Nutcracker Mafia**_

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"Are you going?"

Saitou looked up from perusing his mail.

"Huh?"

"Are you going?" Tokio patiently repeated, watching him.

"Going where?"

"To Kaoru Kamiya's ballet recital."

He made a face.

"Why would I do that?"

She sent him a disapproving look.

"Because she's one of your best students and she asked."

"I don't do ballet," he said dismissively, going back to his mail.

"You owe me for the game I went to," Tokio reminded him.

"I do not," he said, looking up again, frowning at her.

"I don't do sports but I went."

"You never said that!" he said, outraged.

She shrugged.

"Details," she said.

"Oh come on, that's not fair!"

"Fair doesn't figure into the equation," Tokio replied blandly. "Kaoru asked you to go to her recital. She's one of your best students—you've told me she consistently gets the highest grades of all your kids. All she's asking is for you to buy a ticket to her recital to help out her school."

"And give up two hours of my life that I'm never getting back," he shot back.

"Helping Kaoru makes it a worthwhile loss."

"Says you."

"You're going," Tokio said, finality in her voice.

"Who are you, my mother?"

"I'll buy you dinner afterwards—still need to get square with you for game day."

"Are you trying to bribe me with a date?" he asked incredulously.

"No, I'm trying to make it worth your while—even though I think you're being an idiot—by offering to both get you food and get square for the other weekend."

He actually flinched at her answer, not quite expecting it or its complete and utter ruthlessness. He knew he was being a little ridiculous, but he didn't want to go. Chicks in tulle and guys in tights was just _not_ his scene. Yes, Kaoru was his best student. Yes, she was a nice kid who didn't bother him ever. But she was by no means his favorite student (as he had no favorites—Saitou only had students who irritated him to varying degrees). There wasn't any incentive for him, frankly, to go to her recital.

But Tokio liked the studious senior. Kaoru was one of the students who holed up in Tokio's room after school, shooting the breeze until they could no longer linger and had to go home. So Tokio definitely had a stake in it, because Kaoru was one of her favorites.

Him? Not so much.

"Tokio," he began.

"Don't be such a baby," she chided. "Just go."

He glared at her.

"Well what about you?"

"I'm going," she said placidly, and not without a hint of smugness. "I bought my ticket weeks ago."

His glare deepened. He'd figured she probably had, but he'd been hoping he was wrong.

So much for that.

"Don't see why I have to go," he grumbled. "_You_ I understand, but I don't even talk to her."

"Just buy a ticket, you whiner," she returned, rolling her eyes.

"You owe me," he warned.

"I don't think so, Scooter," she immediately said. "Or you'll owe me, and we'll get stuck in an endless "You-owe-me" loop. Nu-uh, no way."

"I want some compensation, woman."

"I'm buying you dinner," she reminded him.

"To pay me back for the day of the game," he replied. "I want compensation."

Tokio sighed.

"Child," she grumbled, sending him a dark look.

"I'm waiting," he said, ignoring the look.

She sighed again in exasperation and sent him a scathing look.

"Fine, you'll get some kind of compensation," she snapped. "I hope you realize you're being completely stupid."

"Uh-huh," he said, waving the last bit off. "When and what?"

"We'll figure it out later."

"Oh hell no," he immediately protested. "We'll figure it out right here, right now."

"Why?" she asked, in an almost whine.

"Because otherwise I'll never get it."

"Oh you will too."

"Feh."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Fine," she said impatiently. "What did you have in mind, _child_?"

"What makes you think I have something in mind?"

"I know you," she bit out, glare deepening. "You wouldn't insist if you didn't already have something in mind."

"Touché," he acknowledged. "I want to see you plastered."

"Oh not this idiocy again," she muttered.

"It's either that or I'm not going," he said.

"What is it with you and wanting to see me drunk?" she asked, clearly baffled.

"You've seen me drunk," he pointed out.

"And you're a horrible drunk," she dryly replied.

"Are not," he said mildly, a tad offended.

"You punched Harada in the face the last time you were drunk," she reminded him, voice flat.

"He deserved it."

"Says _you_."

"He talks a lot of shit, Tokio. Trust me, he deserved it."

"You, Souji, Shinpachi, and Harada were all roaring drunk, and you told me you couldn't remember half of what happened. How do you know he didn't say something perfectly harmless?"

"Because I know him and Harada's never said a harmless word in his life."

"Oh _whatever_."

"Fine, don't believe me. I know I'm right."

"He was fine at the game."

"His wife was there to act as his filter."

She sent him a skeptical look.

"It's either I get to see you plastered or I'm not going," Saitou said resolutely, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Child," she accused again.

"Yes or no," he prompted, again ignoring the barb.

Outwardly, anyway.

Tokio sighed.

"Fine," she said sourly.

"This Friday," he added.

She sent him a poisonous look; he raised an eyebrow, extremely unimpressed.

"_Fine_," she repeated, voice taut, through gritted teeth.

He inclined his head.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said politely.

"I hope you choke on your sandwich," she muttered.

"Tsk tsk—you're a helluva sore loser, huh?"

"Bite me," she returned. "Buy your ticket by the end of the day or the deal's off."

"Aye-aye," he said, saluting.

She returned his salute with a decidedly un-nautical gesture before leaving the mailroom.

He hummed thoughtfully, tapping his mail against his left leg, his right hand in his pocket. "Must be on the rag," he decided.

She had to be, to have given him the finger over something so trivial.

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"Kamiya," Saitou said during third period.

Kaoru's dark head rose, and surprised blue eyes watched him, wider than usual.

"Yes sir?" she asked.

"Come up here when you finish your essay," he ordered.

"Yes sir," she said, looking puzzled.

He nodded and went back to pretending to read the newspaper while in reality watching for any enterprising cheaters. It didn't happen much when he gave out essays, but someone was usually willing to make an attempt. He preferred the essays because it was harder to cheat, and because it drove them crazy (he always picked the older essays because they had more documents; he could always say that he was challenging them, which would ultimately benefit them come May—the whole "Because-it's-fun-to-watch-them-spaz-out" wasn't nearly as good a defense, true and fun as it was).

Today's DBQ had been a surprise, as he preferred them to be whenever possible. He liked lulling them into a complacent state by giving them MCQs and the easier (though not by much) free-response essays for a while, before hitting them with a monster DBQ. And since he never told them beforehand what form their tests were going to take, they had no way of knowing or trying to predict when they'd get one—he made a point of making sure that the test forms were impossible to pattern and predict.

As he expected Kaoru was the first to finish; she rose, with the paper containing the prompt and documents and the ones containing her response and walked to his desk, stapled her papers together, then set it and the prompt down in separate piles. She then dutifully came to his side, careful not to block his view of her classmates.

"Yes sir?" she asked, voice a whisper.

"You still selling tickets to your ballet thing?" he growled, voice low enough not to carry, loud enough for her to hear.

"Uh-huh," she said hesitantly, looking puzzled.

"Hn. Put me down for one."

There was a pause, and then Kaoru excitedly blurted,

"Really Saitou?!"

The entire class stared up at Saitou and Kaoru, clearly intrigued. Saitou sent them a collective black look, and they quickly returned to their work. He then turned his displeasure to the girl crouching next to his desk. She was blushing, expression meek and embarrassed, but she was also smiling in happy gratitude.

"Sorry sir," she said.

"I'm sure," he sourly muttered. "How much?"

"Fifteen."

"Come by during lunch," he said. "Now go sit down and do something that won't bother me. Or anyone else," he added as an afterthought.

She nodded, positively beaming at him.

"Yes sir—thanks!"

"Yeah yeah yeah."

She scampered back to her desk and cheerfully pulled out a book to read. Her classmates eyed her curiously, then glanced at Saitou, clearly wondering what had gone on. Upon meeting with the weight of the Wolf's glare, they meekly went back to their tests.

Once satisfied that the "rubberneckers" were on task again, Saitou slumped down in his seat, scowling grumpily.

This was going to put quite a dent in his formidable reputation. One he might not be able to shrug off, despite his best efforts.

He sighed; maybe a little Broomhead-torture next period would redeem his image.

At the very least, it would brighten his day considerably.


End file.
